


Nothing but a Heartbeat

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Harry Potter, Healer Harry Potter, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Top Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-06 19:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: After Draco is attacked by a werewolf, Harry attempts to help him. Too bad Draco wants to eat him whole.





	Nothing but a Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to my beta, L! Some of the dialogue in the last scene was inspired by the art made for the same prompt #72: "Draco is bitten by a werewolf during the war. Harry helps him cope/adjust."

Draco was used to being an outcast, a reject, a monster. Solitude was a friend. 

What he wasn’t used to was the pain. Oh, the pain. He’d read about the werewolf transformation in textbooks; he’d heard about it from the wolves who prowled the Manor during the war. 

He couldn’t breathe. His eyes rolled; he bit at the air. He choked on a silent plea: _Help me._

When his bones began to break, his vision turned black and he no longer existed. He was grateful. He thought: _Finally, the end._

He was tired of roaming the streets for food; he was tired of hustling for handouts. He was tired of living under the shadow of his mistakes. He wanted to become the air. 

It was euphoric as the wolf. It was like an orgasm. He ran for an eternity. He killed on sight.

The earth was cold on his warm paws, the midnight wind like water in his mouth. He howled to his mother; he howled to the love of his life. The moon was a comforting eye. 

When he awoke in hospital, his limbs knotted to the bed with invisible rope, he felt like he was sinking into a grave. The wormy earth owned his body.

A white light stung his lids. He turned his face away, whimpering. 

“Are you awake?” a man asked.

His eyes flickered open. Merlin. The man smelled _wonderful_.

The man stepped closer. “Malfoy.”

Draco flinched; the way the man said his name was familiar, almost comforting. He didn’t want to be addressed. He wanted to be forgotten.

The man touched his arm. “Draco.”

Draco snarled and arched up. “Don’t touch me!”

“My apologies.” The man moved away. “Are you in pain?”

_“Yes.”_ Draco relaxed against the bed. He pulled at his constraints. He throbbed and ached; he was nothing but a heartbeat. 

“I can help with that,” the man said, and a moment later, Draco could breathe again. He whined a long exhale. “Sleep now; you need it. We will talk later.”

Draco was already unconscious.

*

Draco wanted to shag the bed. He wanted to fuck into the mattress, the bedding, until he made a tight little hole. His cock strained against the thin hospital sheet; he groaned and tried to thrust a little. He was still tied up.

“You need to calm down.” The man sounded amused.

“I fucking need it,” Draco said, thrashing a little. He gulped thickly. “I need my hands.”

“We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Then watch me. I don’t care. Just untie me.” Draco blinked into the light; there was still something wrong with his eyesight.

“No.” The man didn’t sound amused anymore. He fiddled with something. Draco heard his quickened heartbeat.

“Just—give me your palm.”

“Pardon?”

“Press it to my nose.”

The man hesitated. “I can’t.”

“You can.” Draco softened his voice. _“Please.”_

“I—” There was a long pause. The man leaned over the bed; he slowly, carefully, brought his palm to Draco’s nose. Draco inhaled deeply. Merlin. He’d never known anything like it. He smelled the man’s sweet breakfast and his sharp urine; he’d wanked that morning and used some spicy soap to wash away his come. Maybe a day or two ago, he’d dug into the earth for potion ingredients.

Draco opened his mouth to breathe these scents; he licked the man’s palm to taste them. His cock pulsed. He was coming, his hips rocking into the sheet, his groans desperate. 

The man made a noise in his throat and snatched his hand away.

“Don’t clean me up,” Draco murmured. Sleep pulled him under.

*

The next time the man returned, Draco was sitting up in bed. His constraints were gone; he’d been a good boy.

“Potter,” he said, because he’d known all along.

Potter paused. “I didn’t know if you recognized me.”

Draco cocked his head. “I thought you wanted to become an Auror.”

“Things change.” 

Draco leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He smiled. Yes, things changed. Potter came closer.

“Was it your first transformation?”

Since the end of the war, so much about Draco’s life had been a blur. “My parents are dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Potter sounded sincere. “I know how much they meant to you.”

“They would hate that I was a werewolf. They thought all werewolves should be eradicated, especially after Greyback moved in.”

“Greyback was a monster; not all werewolves are monsters.”

Draco snorted. “Yes, they are.”

“Do you think you’re a monster?” Potter perched on the edge of his bed.

“No.” Draco opened his eyes. Potter leaned close to him, his expression concerned. “I think I’m perfect; I can do no wrong. I thought you understood that about me.”

“We aren’t children anymore.”

Draco laughed. It was humorless, hard. It felt good to be cruel. “We are barely eighteen.”

Potter raised his chin. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“You are the defeater of the Dark Lord.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“I’m not saying his other name.”

“You don’t have to.” Potter sighed, and sat back. “Riddle. Just call him Riddle.”

Draco cringed a little. “I haven’t earned that.”

Potter went to the door. He said, “Yes, you have,” then he left.

*

A few days later, two elderly mediwitches helped Draco from bed. They bathed him and combed down his hair. He sighed as they gently gave him a shave. They handed him comfy trousers and thick robes; they bent low to tie his shoes. While they knelt on the floor before him, he thought, _Finally. What I always wanted._ He surprised himself by laughing.

“You’ve already improved a great deal,” one said brightly. 

He was encouraged to confront a mirror. The man who stared back at him looked older. He looked like he understood something about the world.

“Healer Potter wants to have tea with you. He’ll be here shortly.”

This made the man in the mirror tilt his head. Some emotion flitted across his face.

“I’m glad you’re up,” Potter said from the doorway. Smiling warmly, the mediwitches withdrew into another room. 

“Yes,” Draco said, and moved away from the mirror. He made to near Potter, but then stopped. His nostrils flared. Potter shagged someone last night, maybe even this morning.

“What’s the matter?” Potter said.

Draco shook his head. His throat clicked on a gulp. “You wanted to have tea?”

“Yes,” Potter said slowly. He was scrutinizing Draco.

“Where? I’m not sure if I can move far.”

“I will help you.” Potter Summoned a cane from a nearby cupboard and directed it to Draco’s hand. Draco grasped the handle, and felt the cane magically adjust to his height. He hobbled to the corridor.

“Keep up, Potter!” he barked over his shoulder. Somehow he knew Potter was smiling. By the end of the corridor, he was exhausted. He leaned against a wall, breathing heavily.

“Here, let me,” Potter said quietly. He gave Draco his arm, and together they moved down the next corridor, their shoulders brushing. Draco trembled. This close, he could smell the _lube_ Potter had used when shagging. 

Murmurs greeted them around another corner. Through two open doors a pleasant tearoom waited for them. Potter helped him through those doors, then to a small circular table. Hospital staff chatted at other tables; warm firelight danced along the clean tablecloth and a chipped teapot scurried forward to pour their first cups.

Potter took up his cup and breathed in the scented steam. “Hope you like Earl Grey.”

“I do,” Draco said. He took a few sips with his eyes closed. His head spun a little. He needed to control himself.

“Are you not feeling well?” Again Potter sounded concerned.

Draco made a noise in his throat. He should lie. It was too awkward; too embarrassing. He opened his eyes and found Potter’s face close to his. “Someone shagged you this morning.”

Potter jerked back. “What?”

Draco gulped in air. Potter had already seen him fucking _orgasm_ ; what else was there to hide? “A bloke,” Draco said. “A bloke shagged you.”

“Malfoy.” Potter turned his face away; he was blushing. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me. Not here.”

“Are you really a proper healer?” Draco swirled his tea around. “Aren’t you a little too . . . _young_?”

“I had good teachers.” Potter still wouldn’t look at him.

“I never would’ve thought you’d be the type to take it up the arse.”

Potter shuddered. He covered his eyes with a hand. “Malfoy, _stop_.”

“Of course, I don’t think it’s wrong or anything like that. I’m just surprised.”

“This is my career, my future. I can’t let patients talk to me like this.”

“But I’m not like other patients.”

“No, you’re not.” Potter dropped his hand; finally, he looked at Draco. _His eyes._ “I asked you to tea to check up on you. You were quite . . . sad the last time we saw each other.”

“Turning into a ravenous monster will do that to you.”

“There are options, Malfoy. It doesn’t need to be a death sentence. The laws are changing. _People_ are changing.”

“Have you changed?”

Potter blinked. “What?”

Draco hesitated, not really knowing his own intent. He wanted to hold Potter down, struggling, breathing hard. He wanted to sink his teeth into him; he wanted to taste his arsehole. He wanted Potter to stop trying to _help him_.

“Which blokes did you fancy back at Hogwarts? Diggory? Thomas? Definitely not Weasley. The thought of you two is almost inconceivable . . .”

Potter stood abruptly. “You’re being insufferable. It’s obviously pointless to get you to talk today.”

“Then next time don’t come to me with lube still _dripping_ from you and expect me to pay attention.” Draco swallowed a laugh; he always laughed when he was jealous.

“It’s not—! How dare you!” A few of their neighbors glanced at them, and Potter lowered his voice. “What I do in my private life is none of your business!”

Draco fisted his hands; he stared down at his lap. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he was angry. He didn’t understand what Potter wanted from him. He didn’t understand why he wanted Potter to like him. _Potter._ At one time, Draco had found him bigheaded; annoying. At one time, Draco had wanted him dead.

“I’ll help you back to your room,” Potter said stiffly. He grabbed Draco’s arm to help him up; Draco yanked away.

“Don’t touch me!” Draco’s voice was loud but he didn’t care; people were staring but he wanted to kill them all. Something dark and overwhelming rose inside him; he was a monster; he was disgusting; he didn’t deserve to even be _alive_. He turned his head away, trying to hide from all the faces. “I can’t bear it,” he whispered.

Potter crouched before him. “It’s all right. Nobody needs to touch you if you don’t want it.”

“I don’t, I don’t,” Draco insisted. His head was spinning more. He didn’t know where he was. He just felt so damn weak. “I need my bed—I need—” _my mum._ He cried out and smacked a fist into his forehead. They were dead, all dead. He should be dead, not them. He was the one who deserved it.

“Healer Potter—do you need our assistance?” Someone from a nearby table had stood up.

“Yes, it seems—”

“No, I’m all right,” Draco said. He tried to stand but he nearly fell over.

“Just—let me—” Potter handled him gently, hesitantly. This time, Draco leaned into the touch. They made it back to the corridor. Draco was panting; Potter helped him rest against the wall for a moment. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” Draco said. He clutched at Potter and pulled him closer without really thinking about it. Potter’s scent whirled around him; it made him feel warm and safe. He pressed his face to Potter’s neck, gulping him in. Potter shuddered and braced himself on the wall with a hand.

“It’s all right,” Potter said, sounding strained. “You’re safe.”

“You’re not.” Draco pressed even closer. He knew it was wrong, but he let his hand brush down Potter’s side, his fingers barely skimming his arse. Potter shuddered again.

“Malfoy,” he said lowly. Footsteps echoed at the end of the corridor, and Potter jerked away. He didn’t look at Malfoy, his face flushed. Draco smelled the arousal radiating from him. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

Taking out his wand, Potter assisted Draco down the corridor. His magic felt like a steady hand on his shoulder, but Draco couldn’t take any relief in it. He’d crawl all the way back if it meant touching Potter again.

*

That night, Draco thrashed in bed, his mind full of Potter, his nose full of his scent. He twisted the sheets in his fists, desperate, overwhelmed, devastated. Everything would be all right if he could have Potter. Just once. Just to satisfy the wolf. Draco flinched, hating that he’d put a name to the thumping need inside him.

His desire for Potter was shocking, entirely too stupid, but transforming into a werewolf was just as shocking and stupid. Draco didn’t know himself anymore. He was freefalling. 

He opened his mouth to his pillow, imagining. His hand slipped into his pants; he was so fucking hard in his palm. Potter. _Potter._ He bet he could get Potter to _cry_ when he came. He bet he could swallow Potter whole. He muffled a groan and stroked himself faster. Potter had no idea how much trouble he was in.

*

Draco went home the next day. He imagined the mediwitches were happy to see him go. He imagined the whole hospital sighed in relief, especially those who wanted to have their tea in peace. He kept his head down when he hobbled through the lobby to the Floo. Potter probably never wanted to see him again.

His flat was in Knockturn Alley; it was the size of a cupboard. Draco didn’t mind. He’d known homelessness and starvation; at least he had a roof over his head and a bed to hide in. 

He was asleep when the knock came. He blinked awake, the candle next to his bed nearly melted down. There was too much grime on the window to know if it was afternoon or dusk. With a groan, he pulled himself from bed and stumbled to the door. On the other side was Potter.

“Hello,” Potter said.

“I’m surprised you want to see me again.” Draco stepped back to let him into the flat. 

“I’m your healer.” Potter slipped past. He turned in place, frowning. “I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Draco closed the door. “The Ministry took all my money.”

“Right.” Potter was very stiff; he seemed to not know what to do with his hands. “I’ve brought you something.”

“Oh?” Draco moved to the bed. He patted the mattress beside him. “I’m sorry, but I have nowhere else to sit.”

Potter sat down next to him. They were nearly touching. He produced a tiny lidded goblet from his pocket, then enlarged it and handed it to Draco. “Research shows it’s better to start drinking Wolfsbane as early as possible.”

“Great,” Draco murmured, staring down at the goblet. He didn’t dare open the lid. He was sure he’d gag if he smelled the muddy concoction. 

“Of course it’s your choice if you want to take it,” Potter said. “Most say it eases the transformation.”

“Most?” 

“Yeah.” Potter shrugged. 

Draco cocked his head. “Would it make you happy if I drank it?”

“I have nothing to do with it.”

_Don’t you?_ Draco wanted to say. Instead he sighed and lifted the lid. He gulped it all down, grimacing at the harsh taste. When he looked up, he found Potter watching him. He smacked his lips and handed the goblet back to Potter. “Mmm. Delicious.”

Potter shook his head. The goblet disappeared back in his pocket. “I brewed that batch.”

“I thought you were pants at Potions.”

Potter smiled. “I was.”

Draco waited for Potter to stand up, but he didn’t move. Draco stared into his eyes. He wanted to kiss Potter. He wanted to beg him.

“Thank you,” Draco said, not looking away. 

“Please don’t,” Potter said. “I’m only doing my job.”

“You didn’t have to come to my home.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Draco decided to take a chance. “Do you think I’m fit?”

Potter laughed. “You are such a prat.” He smiled again and leaned a little closer.

“But do you think I’m a fit prat?” Draco matched his smile.

“Maybe,” Potter said. He stood and went to the door. “Can I come back with the next dose?”

“Yes,” Draco said, pushing down his disappointment. When Potter left, he fell back on his bed and stared up at his cracked ceiling. Merlin. Was it possible that Potter was _teasing_ him? Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He needed to control himself. For now.

*

In the following weeks Draco’s life settled down. He found a job in the kitchen of a magical restaurant. He didn’t mind scrubbing down all the dirty plates; at least he could use his wand and none of the customers had the opportunity to see him.

Potter visited him once a week to give him his dose. Each time he sat close to Draco. He laughed at his jokes. Soon, his eyes began to linger on Draco. Draco felt like he was going mad. 

A few days before the full moon he paced his flat as he waited for Potter. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trailed down his back. He’d discarded his robes; he attempted to cast cooling charms but his hands shook too much. It’d been like this before the last transformation. The difference now was that he knew what was coming. 

The knock on the door made him jump. “Come in!” he said.

Potter appeared with the goblet already in his hand. Draco took the potion and swallowed it down jerkily. Potter’s eyes were wide in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Potter said.

Draco shook his head. He couldn’t speak. Potter’s scent intoxicated him; he turned away, not trusting himself. Potter stepped closer. 

“I just want to help,” Potter said.

Draco swerved around. He crowded Potter against the wall. “I need more.”

Potter’s eyes were closed; he was breathing harshly. Draco dragged his nose along his neck and paused behind his ear. 

“Merlin, you smell amazing.”

“Malfoy.” His voice was a croak. 

“Let me have you,” Draco murmured. 

“Malfoy,” he repeated, and brushed his lips against Draco’s face. Draco kissed him. Merlin. _Yes._ He wanted to take Potter right there against the wall. He wanted to make Potter delirious with lust. He wanted Potter to _need him_.

He pulled Potter to bed. He crawled on top of him, still kissing him desperately. He ripped open his shirt and mouthed over his chest. “You want me,” Draco said, breathing in deeply.

“Yes,” Potter whispered. 

Draco got his trousers and pants off; then his mouth was on Potter, sucking, tonguing. Potter arched up and fisted the bedding. “God, Draco,” he stuttered. 

“Please—let me inside you,” Draco said, thinking about what he’d known back in the teashop.

“Draco.” Potter thrust up and twisted beneath him. _“Yes.”_

Fumbling in his bedside table, Draco produced his trusty jar of lube. He took off his clothes and removed the rest of Potter’s. Then he was between Potter’s thighs, reaching down, his fingers probing. He thrust a gentle finger inside, watching Potter’s face. Potter gritted his teeth and nodded.

“More,” he whispered. 

“I’m going to ruin you,” Draco answered, moaning. He squeezed another finger inside, then a third. He thrust in and out; he curled up, massaging. Potter shook. When he was prepared, Draco slicked himself up and crouched into position. “Look at me.”

Potter blinked at him. His face was flushed, his pupils blown wide. “Do it.”

Draco slid in to the hilt. Potter arched again, his mouth open in a moan. The pleasure stole Draco’s voice.

“Please,” Potter said, and kissed Draco. They panted into each other’s mouths. Draco thrust slowly, his head spinning. Potter was too tight; the room was too hot. It felt like he was dying. His hips sped up. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. He moaned desperately and clutched at Potter’s side, his arse. He pushed Potter’s legs up to his chest and drilled into him. Potter’s mouth still hung open. He stared up at Draco like he was a god.

“Harry,” Draco said. It felt like a release. Something in his chest loosened up. “Harry. Harry. _Harry_.”

“God,” Potter said. “Use me.”

Draco shuddered. His bollocks were so tight; he couldn’t focus his gaze. “I’m going to come.”

“Do it. Fill me up.” Potter clutched at his shoulders. 

Draco wanted to sink his teeth into Potter. He wanted to taste his blood. Instead he pressed his face to his sweaty neck, whimpering. _Please_ , he thought. A hot flash filled his head; he was coming; he was coming so fucking hard, and Potter was taking it all; Draco was growling and pumping his hips.

When he’d calmed down, he gently pulled out and took Potter into his mouth again. He sucked at his cockhead, his tongue massaging the shaft. Potter was blabbering, his thighs quivering. Draco slid two fingers into his abused arse, searching for his little nub. He stroked and stroked, and Potter cried out and flooded his mouth with thick come. Draco didn’t swallow immediately. He let the come linger in his mouth, detailing every taste.

Potter pulled him up and kissed him. “I needed that,” he murmured.

“I need you,” Draco said, then flinched. Pleasure had made his brain mush. 

“Let me help you.” Potter brushed back his fringe, his hand lingering on his forehead. 

Draco hesitated. “Will you be here when I . . . change again?”

“Yes,” Potter said, and pulled him closer.


End file.
